


To Be Alone with You

by Dragestil



Series: Lightning in the City [4]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Body Dysphoria, DFaB Strife, Gender Dysphoria, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Trans Male Character, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragestil/pseuds/Dragestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife learns what it means to be a sidhe lord's consort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alone with You

**Author's Note:**

> I think this was just as hard to retype as it was to write the first time. This one is...incredibly close to home. If you suffer from gender/body dysphoria, please please please heed this warning: Will feels a lot of that and deals with a lot of that in this piece. I will not be offended or hurt if you do not read this because of that. Take care of yourselves first.

“Your what?”

“Shh, quietly or they’ll all be listening in. And do try to cover your mouth when you speak.”

“I’m sorry,” Strife whispered curtly, though he cupped his hand in front of his lips as if to better convey the sound to Kirin. “What did you just say?”

“Be my consort.”

“Yes, I heard, but what does that _mean_?”

“Mortals,” Kirin murmured with an eyeroll that Strife could hear. The sidhe slipped one arm around the technomancer’s shoulders to make his position more casual before he spoke again. “Every great fae needs a consort, or several - someone to share in their glory and drive them to always grow stronger.”

“Have you been drinking while I’ve not been looking?”

“Don’t be foolish, Will; I’ve been planning this night for ages now. I’ve seen how you look at me. Even now I can feel the way your pulse races when I get close. You’re turning red again, love. Don’t say you don’t want me.”

“Do I even have a choice?”

“Of course! I am not so low as to take a consort by force. Fae will talk, but they always do. You can remain but an apprentice if that is what you wish.”

“There would be... _benefits_ to this arrangement for me?”

“Aside from my beautiful face? Yes. My power will be at your disposal. You will have a place in fae society. You can be so much more than just some mortal technomancer. You need only accept, and say that you’ll be mine.”

“I have one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You are _mine_.”

Kirin pressed a hot kiss to Strife’s jaw, and the smaller man could feel the sidhe smiling against his skin. His heart was pounding, but he felt exhilarated, like he’d just completed a marathon and had a runner’s high. He could feel the eyes on them from the other patrons. He knew they hungered for what had been said. The knowledge he had that they didn’t made him feel powerful.

“You must be hungry,” Kirin said, finally tearing his lips away from Strife.

“I definitely can’t move my arm now, though. You’ve manage to get yourself even closer to me. Do you fae have no concept of personal space?”

“With our consorts? Why would we?” the sidhe laughed as he picked up a morsel of food from Will’s plate. “Now taste this and tell me it isn’t divine.”

The technomancer couldn’t bring himself to argue against this incredibly public display of affection. The space he occupied pressed against Kirin’s side beneath a warm, strong arm was too comfortable. The sound of Kirin’s voice was too alluring. He opened his mouth slightly, and tried not to think about how this must look. His mind went blissfully blank the minute the sidhe slipped food between his lips and brushed his fingers across them.

It took Strife a moment to even remember to shut his mouth. As he chewed, he wondered when (or even if) the novelty would wear off. Part of him prayed it would go quickly so he could return his focus to his magic. Part of him, however, prayed that it wouldn’t at all.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” Kirin asked.

Strife could see every male lead from every romantic comedy he had ever seen, but he couldn’t help himself. He looked (longingly, he was sure the screenwriter of the romcom of his life would have added) at the sidhe who was already scooping up more food to feed the technomancer.

“It really is.”

If Kirin noticed the blatant sappiness, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he continued to feed Strife his meal, paying close attention to what the younger man seemed to enjoy most and giving him extra bites of those things. When Strife began to look full, the sidhe waved over the waiter.

“Am I to expect a charge on my account?”

“Oh no, my lord. You have more than paid for your meal tonight. The guests will be talking until next full moon about this evening! And if I may speak on behalf of the restaurant, you and your young _friend_ ,” he paused, giving Kirin a look that utterly ruined any sense of discretion his wording may have implied, “are welcome here any time.”

The sidhe smiled graciously nonetheless and nodded. As the waiter walked away with the emptied plates, Strife glanced curiously at Kirin.

“He likely learned from the host. They’ll all be cautious - or their idea of it - until we make an announcement.”

“Announcement?”

“Taking a consort is a major affair, dear one. Every fae with half an interest in their future will want to know who to address the gifts to before the official ceremony. They will no longer simply be able to bribe themselves into my favour. Now they must seek your approval as well.”

“That’s ridiculous. I can’t affect their lives!”

“Perhaps not directly, no, but you can sway my hand. If they neglect you, you might tell me as much, and I dislike when my own is neglected,” Kirin said, sliding out of the booth and offering Strife his hand. “Let us not linger. I believe we have fueled quite enough talk for one outing.”

The technomancer nodded and accepted the sidhe’s hand gently pulling him from the booth. Kirin let go to wrap his arm leisurely around Strife’s waist, keeping their sides pressed close together. The shorter man swore he could hear the fae purring as they crossed between tables to the main door. Before they stepped outside though, the taller stopped and unfastened the cloak draped across his shoulders.

“It might be cold out,” he breathed as he leaned down toward Strife, wrapping the rich fabric emblazoned with his sigils around his young consort. “I can’t have you catching a cold, can I?”

Will knew it was less a matter of the weather and more about the statement Kirin was making to the patrons. Clothing the technomancer in his own garb painted a clear picture: this one is mine. He couldn’t particularly say that he minded the message. At the very least, it was a boon of protection that spared him from being the target of mischievous fae in need of a mortal plaything. He allowed Kirin to pull him close again then and lead him out the door.

The car ride home passed too quickly for Strife to pay much heed to it. Kirin spent it with his arm around the technomancer, his eyes glued to the man. When they made it into the house, the sidhe kept the mortal in his grasp. He led him to his own private quarters, where Strife had not dared to venture before.

The younger licked his lips subconsciously, suddenly nervous about what expectations there might be for a consort. He realised there were questions he probably should have been asked. Still, he allowed himself to be walked through the lavish bedroom to the adjoined bathroom.

“Make yourself comfortable. I brought some of your clothes down earlier for this occasion.”

Strife nodded, though he was not entirely processing the words spoken. Muscle memory saved him from needing to think much. He removed his trousers and vest, his button-up and tie, painstakingly folding them and placing them on the counter between two sinks. A distant place in his mind wondered how long the sidhe had been preparing for this. He touched the hem of his sports bras where they left indentations in his flesh. He knew he should remove them, should give his lungs the night to recover from a day of constriction.

Everything was too much. He turned away from the mirror above the counter and removed one of the compression bras. He hid it under the pile of folded formalwear as he pulled on a t-shirt and athletic shorts. He felt too self-conscious to sleep in just his boxer-briefs. Even after so many months living together, there were some things he kept from Kirin’s gaze.

Before he could scream from the pressure building inside him, he walked back into the bedroom. When he focused his eyes, he saw that the sidhe had already gotten ready for bed. He blushed furiously at the sight of Kirin in nothing but boxers.

“Come closer,” the taller man said with a beckoning gesture. “You must be tired.”

And Will was tired, from his head to his toes. It momentarily overrode his self-awareness so that he could cross the room to the bed where Kirin had taken a sea. Even clothed, Strife felt bare before the other’s bright eyes. He slipped beneath the covers as quickly as he could and prayed to lose himself in their warmth.

The lights were extinguished as Kirin joined him. When the sidhe curled his arm around the technomancer, the mortal froze. He could feel the broad expanse of Kirin’s chest pressed close to his back, and it was terrifying. He was certain Kirin could feel the softness of his curves in return.

“Will,” Kirin said, pulling back but leaving a hand on Strife’s shoulder, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Strife lied blatantly with a clenched jaw.

Kirin almost growled with his frustration, but stopped himself. He could feel the panic in his consort and had no desire to escalate it further. Slowly, he backed away, putting as much space between them as he could. Strife was still on the other side of the bed, but the static in the air had faded slightly. The technomancer curled into himself.

More than ever, he hated his body - and himself. He hated his anxiety, his fear, his certainty that Kirin could only care for him if he was _really_ a man. Fighting for freedom from his mental prison, he let out a strangled cry that the sidhe could not ignore.

“Please let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

“You can’t. You can’t fix _me_ ,” Strife said, and he was coloured by the bitterness of a lifetime of self-loathing.

“You aren’t broken, dear one.”

“Yes I am! Have you ever even seen me?” the technomancer shouted, voice cracking as he sat up swiftly to stare at Kirin.

“Will,” Kirin sighed, and he sounded more broken than Strife would have thought possible, “do you believe me to be so shallow? You are a man, and because it is yours, so is your body. Do not hate yourself for things you had no hand in doing.”

Strife couldn’t find words. He was locked in place, shoulders trembling and tears rolling down his cheeks, as Kirin sat up and cautiously scooted closer. Calloused thumbs wiped at the wet streaks on the technomancer’s face.

“Are you okay with me hugging you?” Kirin asked, soft and serious, to a small nod from Strife.

The sidhe drew the mortal into his chest, barricading out the world with the heat of his body. He rested his chin on Strife’s head and let him cry silently. It took a long while for the technomancer to finally settle himself down. He sniffed lightly, wiping his face on his t-shirt as he pulled out of Kirin’s arms.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Never apologise for yourself. You are a powerful technomancer and the consort of a sidhe lord. Your presence, however it comes, is a blessing upon those graced with it.”

Strife let out a hiccoughing laugh. “Kirin, I want to ask you something serious.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I want you to see more of me but...I don’t want you to say anything. Can you?”

Kirin nodded and, before his thoughts could stop him, Strife slipped off his t-shirt. His fingers were hesitant as they reached for his bra, and at the last moment he decided to leave it for the end. Instead, he wiggled out of his baggy shorts, revealing figure-hugging boxer-briefs. He took a deep breath to ground himself. Finally, he took off the sports bra. He didn’t look at the sidhe.

Kirin’s eyes roamed Strife’s form almost reverently. They didn’t linger on anything for more than a few moments. He reached forward but didn’t touch yet, waiting in silent questioning for the technomancer’s approval. It came in the form of a quick inhale and nod. The sidhe closed the distance between his hand and Strife’s skin.

His touch was gentle as it ran over the indentation where the sports bras had spent a day digging into the young man. The angry redness of the flesh and the soft hiss Strife couldn’t catch fast enough drew concern into Kirin’s brow. He kept his quiet, though, and continued his exploration of Strife’s sacred body. When he had had his fill, he pulled back.

“I’m broken,” Strife said, but it was more of a question this time.

“Only where you do not see that you are whole.”

They fell into familiar quiet. Strife failed to stifle a yawn that made Kirin smile. The sidhe pulled the technomancer into his hulking form and pressed a kiss to the mortal’s head. This time, the younger man softened into the embrace, allowing himself happily to be pulled down onto the bed and beneath the covers. His pulse still raced sporadically as anxiety tried to creep up on him, but he felt safe with Kirin’s breath brushing against his neck. He pressed his bare back into the sidhe’s bare chest, and for all of his earlier distress, it was home. He slipped off easily into dreamless sleep with the ghost of Kirin’s lips hovering close by.


End file.
